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but not released to the public yet; and implants that would have bankrupted even a vice president of security. Which meant that he probably knew he had been scanned. Viktor had thoughtfully attached to the bottom of the scan confirmation that was Xavier’s official title. And Angel had no doubt that, officially, it was, and would hold up to any scrutiny.
    She gave Xavier her best “fuck you” smile. “Well, thank you for your assistance.” She ran her eyes over the room in a final cursory once-over. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
    “Of course.” Xavier stepped to the side, leaving a clear path to the door. “Anything you need, really.”
    “There is one thing,” added Angel. “Why leave the photo frame?”
    “Excuse me?”
    She waved the evidence bag holding the frame at him. “Why take everything else and leave this? I mean, he had to have plenty of other stuff that wasn’t related to any research he was conducting, and it’s all been cleared out.”
    Xavier gave her a puzzled look, and his smile slipped a little. A faint flush crept up his neck. “I hadn’t realized anything was left. The scrub-bot should have removed everything. If you would hand it over, I will make sure it reaches the correct place.” He held out a hand expectantly.
    Angel shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. A personal photo frame isn’t classified, as far as I am aware. Viktor, could you confirm this?”
    “I believe so,” replied her partner, warming to their small victory. “Under section seventeen, article two hundred and sixty-one of the Corporate Privacy Act, personal effects—including but not limited to visual display devices containing images of offspring or civil partners—do not fall under the definition of classified work data or materials.”
    Xavier paused as he consulted his implants, then withdrew his hand. “It seems you’re correct. I expect we will revise our protocols.”
    “I would expect no less,” Angel said. “Come on, Viktor, we’ve seen enough here.”
    •
    Angel paused at the entrance to the café. It was a highly protected building, with state-of-the-art security. Around her, people sauntered or hurried by, giving her curious looks, eyes drawn to her weapon. News of the murders had been suppressed by the corporations, for the good of the population, of course. It wouldn’t do for them to become uneasy and start asking questions; productivity might suffer. But they knew something was in the air, the same way a hunted herbivore might feel its hair rise even though there was no clear danger. Her presence on the street only confirmed their suspicions, and no doubt rumors had started circulating since she and Viktor had landed. But like all good employees, they kept their heads down and avoided trouble, lest they stand out and slip down the corporate ladder they had assigned their lives to.
    She had sent Viktor back to their temporary office with instructions to log the photo frame for examination then take the evening off. Despite his reluctance to be there or investigate corporate murders, he had actually been working hard on the cases, often following the slenderest of leads late at night. He needed a rest, and she could interview the wife on her own. It was unlikely she would offer more than the empty office anyway. These corporate types regarded outsiders to their corporations with suspicion. Still, she had to be questioned.
    As her implant clock ticked over to 6 p.m., Angel entered the café and scanned the patrons for the wife, Jessica Smith. She found her seated in a booth situated close to the back. Tables and chairs made from locally grown timber, subdued orange lighting, and top-of-the-range serving automatons, along with the security, marked the place as somewhere not consistent with a mid-level researcher.
    She’s splashed out on somewhere she’d feel safe, realized Angel.
    Those dining were picking at small morsels of artfully arranged food,